No Saint to Follow
by Mark of the Asphodel
Summary: Sister Lena, the beloved frontier angel, disappeared leaving her only apprentice half-trained.  Lena's apprentice Melissa soon finds herself in a conflict that has more to do with her teacher than anyone knows.   On hiatus pending release of FE12
1. Some Mother's Son

_**No Saint to Follow**_

This is the story of Sister Melissa, a young cleric of Grust.

_I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters._

_***_

**Chapter One: Some Mother's Son**

"Melissa, go. The Sable Knights are passing by!"

Melissa ran out the door of her grandmother's house so quickly that she forgot to bring her staff. She dashed down the garden path and out to the main street of Gavarnie. She arrived at the town gates just in time to see the column of the Grustian cavalry approach, three abreast upon their fine horses. So solemn they were in their dark armor, every face impassive, as though to smile would be a grave offense. Only a few of them so much as glanced at the townspeople who waved and shouted their thanks and encouragement to the kingdom's most fabled defenders. Melissa darted through the crowd and slipped to the side of a old man who leaned upon his gnarled staff like a beggar.

"Grandfather, is General Camus riding with them today?"

"No, Camus is not there. General Sternlin leads the Order today," replied Father Arnaldus. He was not Melissa's grandfather by blood, but she called him so as a courtesy, for she had been the apprentice of his true granddaughter. He once had been a great priest, and indeed he still wore the robes of a priest, though much faded. His powers and his body alike were failing him now, and he could perform only the most basic healing spells-- no more than Melissa herself could do. But his mind was still great, and some called him the wisest man in Gavarnie.

General Sternlin was a brave man with many victories to his credit, but it still puzzled Melissa that General Camus was away from his knights. Once, it had been easy to laugh at the rebel army-- a motley pack of old men and children, walking dead who hadn't realized their own doom just yet. But people stopped laughing when the rebels took the city of Pales, and the news that they'd reclaimed the kingdom of Altea was just a little frightening to Melissa. The rebels were poised now just to the north, on the other side of the Straits of Chiasmir, and surely General Camus, who had never lost a battle, was the best man to face them? Melissa pondered this mystery while the Sable Order marched by. She ignored the familiar sight of a few Macedonian pegasus knights sailing over the crowd, and likewise she ignored her grandmother when she showed up at last and began chatting with Father Arnaldus. Why in heaven's name would the king not want his finest general-- the finest warrior alive, they said-- to beat back the rebels?

Then one cavalier, young and fair, saw Melissa standing there in the robes of a novice.

"Bless us, sister!" he cried to her, and though his fellows frowned at his lapse in discipline, they nodded at Melissa as she raised her hand and asked for the gods to show their blessings to the defenders of Grust.

"Good eye, my girl. He'll make a fine husband if he ever comes back," her grandmother said of the blond cavalier. "Looks a bit like General Camus, that one does-- enough to be a brother."

"Hush, grandmother." She did not even know the youth's name, and already Oma was imagining a future for her as the sister-in-law to the Sable Order's great commander. Melissa very much doubted the general even had a younger brother. If he did, someone would surely have mentioned it by now.

The Sable Knights, cheered by Melissa's blessing, raised their fists and their voices in unison.

"Glory to Grust and King Ludwik!"

The townspeople of Gavarnie clapped and shouted the praises of the motherland and king likewise, and Melissa smiled to herself as she stood tip-toe to catch a last glance of that fair-haired young knight. If Melissa's prayers to heaven carried any weight at all with the gods, she'd done her small part for the motherland.

***

They waited long days for word of the battle. Melissa turned her thoughts toward the handsome young cavalier who had spoken to her. Even if he wasn't any brother of General Camus, he had been a lovely sight. Perhaps when the Sable Order came back through Gavarnie on their way home from the battle, he would think of her, and ask about the pretty little novice who had given her blessing before the battle. Melissa was the only novice in Gavarnie-- the only one in the province, since Sister Martina died of summer fever-- and she would be easy to locate.

Word filtered back slowly, and it gave Melissa time to imagine an entire courtship with her golden-haired knight. She was adding details to her fanciful wedding when news arrived to sweep her dreams away like fallen leaves in the wind. The Sable Knights were defeated at the Chiasmir Straits. Not defeated, but slaughtered. Not slaughtered, but....

"_Annihilated._" No survivors, nothing left at all of the proud men who marched past the village only weeks before. Nothing left of the fair youth who asked Melissa to pray for him.

"Cut every last one of them down, even the priests," said the villager who brought news of the catastrophe to Gavarnie. "I saw one knight down on his knees, begging for quarter. He couldn't have been a day above seventeen. They slit his throat."

"How then did you escape?" Master Isarnus, one of the village elders interrogating the messenger, looked skeptical of the young man's story.

"They left the villagers alone. Came into everyone's house, asked for information, and that was it."

"You didn't resist?"

"No sir!" The messenger wiped some perspiration out of his eyes, leaving a trail of dust across his brow. "There was nowt to be done, sir. I've two sisters and my ma to care for, and I saw quick that anyone with a weapon in his hand was a dead man. The rebels let ma and my sisters be, and I couldn't get myself killed for no reason."

Later accounts matched the tale told by young Elyas. They spoke of barbaric axemen from Talys who struck wounded men in the back, of Aurelian horsemen who rode like a scouring wind and made the air sing with arrows. They spoke of mages who turned men into columns of flame or pillars of ice, and they spoke long and loudly of the Alteans, calling each man an army unto himself. They fought like demons, or monsters; Melissa heard tales of an archer shooting arrows of fire, of a massive general who stood like a tower and wielded a lance like a fallen sapling. She heard of paladins who could take on three, four, even five knights at a time and left behind them rivers of blood.

"If they are such fearsome fighters, how did the kingdom fall so quickly?"

Father Arnaldus shook his head.

"It is the price of treachery. King Ludwik now reaps the ill harvest of his dealings."

Melissa was silent. She knew that the king had done a number of things that Arnaldus and others were unhappy about-- the alliance with the Dolhr Empire and the things that followed it were high on the list. King Ludwik hadn't been very popular since the little prince and princess were sent out of the country, and the presence of Macedonian knights in Grust worried people a great deal. And even as a child, Melissa heard terrible things about the fall of Altea-- of horrid betrayals, of noble children being hunted down and murdered, of clerics and other defenseless women being abused. Melissa was especially bothered by the last part. Some of the worst reports were sent back by General Camus, who tried to be a good and just governor of Altea, but the Dolhr Emperor removed Camus from his place and had him sent back to Grust, and it all made people very upset.

For these reasons, the people of Gavarnie were cheered by the past exploits of the Sable Order more than they were cheered by the thought of King Ludwik. Brave General Sternlin, wise General Lorenz, and brilliant, undefeated General Camus-- these were the men who protected the people and would save them not only from the rebels, but from their own fearsome allies. And now one of the three was gone, cornered and stabbed to death by some Macedonian knights who had sold out to the rebels.

Melissa lay awake nights and wondered how the fair young knight she blessed had died. She imagined it was he whom Elyas had seen, down on his knees praying for his life, when the quick flash of a sword ended his prayers. She was certain now that her knight would have come to see her, to court her and marry her, if he had only come back from the battle alive. As it was, she had nothing from him, not even a lock of his hair to treasure. Melissa took a lock of fair hair from the ground by the barber's post, braided it into a ring and decided to wear it on her right hand in the manner of a widow. Grieving for her lost knight was, in its own way, far more enjoyable than waiting for the rebel army to sweep down and surround them.

**To be continued...**

_Author's Notes_: So, little Melissa, aka Malliesia, lives in a village of Grust with her grandmother. She was the apprentice of Sister Lena, who has disappeared, and remains close with Lena's grandfather (here called Arnaldus), one of the town elders. Melissa and her grandmother are both a bit strange, as shall be seen in later installments.


	2. Steel and Thunder

**Chapter Two: Steel and Thunder**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters._

***

The battle at the Chiasmir Straits quickly became known as the "Damming of the Waters" for the number of dead bodies that choked the straits after the battle. Despite this, the people of Gavarnie kept hope, certain that their great generals and their elite knights would not fail them a second time. When word came that the rebels had torn through the Fane of Raman, unleashing some terrible power from Raman Temple in the process, the villagers still kept their heads high.

"This is our land, the soil we've watered with our sweat and our tears," said Master Isarnus, and he spoke for all the men of Gavarnie. "The rebels have no business here."

Melissa nodded, though a small whisper in her heart said that she, and everyone else, knew what the rebels' business in Grust really was. _Revenge_. They had pushed the armies of Dolhr, Grust, and Macedon from their own lands, and were coming down to even the score. But Melissa repeated the same words as everyone else: this is our motherland, and we will triumph.

The word from Olbern Castle wasn't any better than the word from Raman.

"They say that Ludwik has taken to his bed, and turns his face to the wall if any dare speak to him. He doesn't even ask after the children any longer."

"What did happen to the royal children, Grandfather?"

"No one knows. It seems the princess of Altea likewise disappeared some months ago; perhaps Dolhr has all the royal children in one place."

Or perhaps they were all dead. But Melissa didn't say that; to accuse the Dolhr Emperor of murder was far too risky. Melissa had seen curious people in Gavarnie before, people with strangely smooth skin and with scarves over their ears, and she knew them to the the agents of the Emperor-- the dragonkin.

But life for Melissa continued as normal; Oma had faith in the Sable Order and the generals, and even in poor King Ludwik.

"If you'd seen him just ten years ago, before Queen Lydia died-- as handsome as the day, he was."

Melissa and Oma were out at the market, and Melissa's hands had just closed around a packet of honeyed candy, when a great commotion at the village entrance caught everyone's attention.

"Open the gates! For the love of heaven, open the gates!"

At first, the sentries thought it was a trick, but the man switched out of the Common Tongue and spoke to them as a true man of Grust, and so he was allowed to come in and speak to the village elders.

"The rebels have the eastern half of the country," he choked out, in between long drinks of water. "They push westward, and will be at your gates before noon tomorrow."

"How?" Several men spoke at once, but Master Isarnus was the loudest. "How did they get past the artillery?"

"The rebels also have artillery. They rained thunderbolts out of the sky...."

The construction and maintenance of siege machines was a closely-kept secret of the Grustian army. If the rebels had their own firepower, they must have truly brilliant engineers-- or, more likely, they'd taken in traitors from Grust's own forces. As the news sank in, the elders convened an emergency council to deal with this looming catastrophe.

***

Though Melissa was but a novice, she was the closest they had to a town cleric; the powers of Father Arnaldus had ebbed with age, his daughter Bishop Alayda was long dead, and Sister Lena had gone off to Macedon and never returned. Lena's half-trained apprentice was the last legacy of a family that had served Gavarnie, and Grust, with utmost devotion. So Melissa, in spite of her youth, had a place at the town council alongside Arnaldus and the other elders.

"We must arm ourselves, all of us who can walk," said Master Isarnus. "From the oldest man down to the boys, we must stand against this invasion."

The council chamber erupted in shouts of approval.

"The Prince of Altea has an especial hatred of Grust," Brascus the clubfooted smith called out. "He'll want his revenge against our wives and daughters."

"Eh!" The sound of protest came from Senebrun the old stonemason. "We didn't kill his mother."

A rumble of general agreement went around the chamber. Melissa, for her own part, shuddered. She'd heard about what had been done to the Altean queen once General Camus was recalled by the Emperor. But surely, it counted in their favor that Camus was an honorable man, and hadn't harmed the poor queen when he governed Altea?

"Killed his father, though," came a mutter from the back, and all went silent before breaking into another round of shouting. Father Arnaldus regained order by thumping his healing staff on the table.

"Now, hear me. The Altean's hate of our land and its leaders is fact. As is his equally passionate hatred for the Kingdom of Gra. See the fate of Gra, and see our future."

"Exactly." Red-faced Isarnus had grown a little pale, Melissa thought. "The land was left a ruin. King Jiol's head was set on a shield and served up as a meal for starlings."

Melissa hadn't heard that detail before, and something in its horror sent a thrill through her. But Father Arnaldus shook his head, even as the men around him called to resist the enemy to their final breaths.

"In Gra, the village folk and farmers were spared. All bearing arms, or aiding the Gra forces as healers, were put to the sword. The same happened at the Chiasmir Straits, as you've already been told. If you incite the people of Gavarnie to battle against this enemy, you doom our town and all its people."

The mention of the battle at the Chiasmir Straits brought an angry flush to the faces of several men.

"We were betrayed at Chiasmir!"

For a young Macedonian pegasus knight, one of the supposed allies of Grust, was reported to have flown to the side of the rebel leader, the very Prince of Altea who hated Grust so deeply, and had presented him a sword. And not any sword, but the legendary Mercurius blade, which General Camus himself had taken from the dead hand of the King of Archanea when the Archanean capital fell. The council nearly fell apart in a shout of hatred against faithless Macedonians, and Father Arnaldus had to smack his staff upon the table many times before the elders worked out a plan.

***

Melissa led the village in prayer as whispers of the imminent battle grew ever nearer. Well before noon, the folk of Gavarnie could hear the unmistakable sound of siege machines, the great _ballistae_ that had won Grust so many battles. The prayer service ended as people fled to their own homes, to be in the company of their aged parents and small children. Melissa, rather than follow Oma to their house, climbed high upon the village walls that she might see the battle unfolding around them. She saw at once the great siege machines, and at first thought that the Wooden Cavalry of Grust had surrounded Gavarnie to protect it. Then she watched as the _ballistae_ fired in rapid succession at a line of cavalry in dark armor. She saw one of the Sable Knights fall from his saddle, wreathed in flame. Another knight followed him to the ground, limbs jerking like a marionette as electricity crackled around him.

Melissa always had admired the tapestries of the War of Liberation on her grandmother's walls. She'd stared for many an hour at tall, handsome General Ordwin and his equally handsome knights as they beat back the vicious hordes of Dolhr's dragonkin. But the tapestries were silent and still, and battle before her was loud, colorful, and confusing. Horsemen came thundering by, and they wore bright-hued armor instead of sable. Melissa looked at their leader, at the silver flash of his sword as he urged his men on; above him streamed a green banner spangled with golden lilies. Aurelians. The wild men of the great northern plains. Aurelian men stole girls from good families; Melissa could not count the times when she'd misbehaved and Oma had threatened to take her to market and sell her to an Aurelian. It was not safe for her on the walls; Melissa hopped down, trying all the while not to think about what might happen if the plainsmen got inside the village gates.

She first walked, then ran in the direction of Oma's house, but was only halfway there when great shadows passed over her. She looked up at a great red war-dragon and three white pegasi, who flew low and then began to circle the village in formation. Melissa gasped and crouched down. Dragonknights over Grust had become a familiar sight during the war, but it was _different_ now that this dragonknight and her women were enemies.

"Dear gods above, protect your Melissa. Melissa doesn't want to be fed to the dragons, Melissa doesn't want to be taken away."

That was how Oma found Melissa-- on her knees in the dust, praying not for the village but for her own safety.

"The fools are opening the gates," said Oma. "Come, girl. We'll hide you away."

So Melissa huddled in the wine cellar, hidden between dust-covered casks, while Father Arnaldus welcomed the rebel commander to Gavarnie. Father Arnaldus went so far as to give the Altean prince the village treasure, the staff of repair that would render a weapon as strong and sharp as on the day it was forged. Melissa had just learned the Hammerne spell when Lena left for Macedon, and now she'd never have the chance to use it. It was two days before Oma let Melissa out of the cellar, and even then Melissa only escaped because she was needed to pray over the dead. There were no wounded to for her to treat-- as in Chiasmir, as in Gra, the wounded of the Sable Order were not spared, and the rebels tended to their own.

Melissa said the final rites over the seven bodies, reeking under their shrouds, that had been brought to Gavarnie for burial. She tried not to think about how these men must have died, but with every breath she tasted burnt flesh and singed hair. Once the brave defenders of Grust were laid in the crypt beneath the shrine, Melissa decided that she needed to take a walk. No matter that there might be prowling Aurelians looking for a pretty girl to carry back with them; the world was ending, and Melissa wanted fresh air. As she walked, she twisted the braided ring on her finger; the ring made her finger itch a little, but she wore it in proud remembrance of everything the rebels had stolen from them. Melissa had almost forgotten that the golden hair of her ring didn't truly come from the head of her poor lost cavalier. Thoughts of his fair face and green eyes filled her head; if he had been brought to Gavarnie for burial, it wouldn't have been a burned and stinking mess. She would have washed his pretty face, and combed out his golden curls, and would have clipped the very lock that now bound her finger. Yes, it would have been that way, exactly.

So Melissa was deep in her own thoughts when the trio of pegasus riders returned to circle the village. Some village boys threw rocks at the pegasus knights as they shouted to the people of Gavarnie that the battle was over, the castle taken.

"Faithless bitches!" One youth screamed. "You've been the wreck of us all!"

The Macedonian knights ignored him, and called down their messages ever more loudly until they finally went away. Melissa stood by the angriest of the boys as she watched the three knights disappear into the dusk.

"What happened, Adomar?"

"We lost. Everything." Adomar's eyes had the glassy look of a dying man. "You heard the Macedonian sluts. General Lorenz surrendered the castle."

Lorenz giving up the castle, Father Arnaldus opening the gates to the rebels... it seemed to Melissa that the entire world had turned on its head.

"What about General Camus?" she demanded, her voice growing sharp with panic.

"Camus has fallen, sister."

She stared at him, not believing a word.

"How?"

"In single combat with the Altean prince."

Melissa sat down so abruptly that her skirts billowed around her before sinking to the dust.

"What sort of giant must this Prince of Altea be?" For Camus stood above most men-- well over six feet in height, it was said, strong enough to wield the Gradivus lance, which was known in song and story as the "rock crusher" that could be hurled through stone walls.

"Did you not see him, sister?"

Melissa shook her head; a hot and tight lump in her throat kept her from speaking. _Camus has fallen_.

"He's nothing. He's my age. If that. Half the men in Gavarnie...." Adomar broke off and cleared his throat, then began another sentence entirely. "The general could have killed him in one blow."

"Then how did the general lose?"

"I don't know, sister. But one of them was standing at the end of the duel, and the other wasn't."

"How do you know all these things?" Her voice went sharp again; Oma would be most displeased to hear Melissa speaking in such a tone.

"Because, dear sister, Father Arnaldus has been receiving the rebel couriers for days. We've had every blasted word of the rebels' victories."

She clutched her healing staff to her chest, yet she did not pray. The gods did not love them, she thought. King Ludwik, through his alliance with the dragonkin, must have angered heaven so much that heaven turned its back on all of Grust. Melissa sat in the dust, an itching ring on her finger and a useless staff in her hands, until long after it was dark. Oma came to a collect her with a lengthy scolding; threats of selling her to Aurelians were no longer on the list of admonishments.

**End Chapter Two**


	3. Welcome to the Occupation

**Chapter Three: Welcome to the Occupation**

_I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters._

_Author's Notes: With the first two installments of this, I've covered events up to the Chapter "Camus the Sable" in FE1/Shadow Dragon. This chapter covers the two-year interval between the War of Darkness and the War of Heroes. Grust, once a great military power, is now considered one of the most devastated countries on Archanea, and its fortunes continue to fall..._

***

"Almost there, Liebchen. Just a lick and a promise to go."

Melissa fought to keep her tears from spilling over as Oma raked a comb through her hair.

"A girl's hair is her crowning glory," clucked Oma as she pulled one section of hair high and secured it with a ribbon. "A man will notice a girl with good hair."

Men noticed her already, Melissa thought as she chewed her lower lip. And her hair set Melissa apart whether it was combed for a hundred strokes or not. No one else in Gavarnie had long pale hair that looked like spun silver-- no one below the age of sixty, anyway. Melissa's hair had been silver from birth, and she had hated it until the day Sister Lena had told her that silver-colored hair was thought to be linked to great magical powers.

"It could be a sign from the gods that you have an important mission in this life," Lena had said, even as Melissa stared at Lena's beautiful deep auburn hair and wished that _she_ had locks that shone like fire and copper.

"There you are. Just like an angel."

Melissa looked into the mirror that Oma held before her and agreed that Oma had done well; the unruly waves were combed perfectly straight, aside from the beribboned chunk of hair that stuck out from the side of Melissa's head.

"Now, remember what I said, Liebchen. Don't talk-- just smile."

Melissa smiled through the dinner with the Archanean arms-merchant, a man with with light-gray eyes and light-yellow hair. He was handsome, but in a rather cold way, and Melissa decided quickly she didn't like his smile. There was something stretched about it, like a taut piece of leather. But Melissa smiled and listened and nodded when she thought it appropriate, and put out her hand to be kissed at the end of the meal. The merchant's lips were also cold, but at least they were dry.

"I don't think he liked me, Grandmother."

"He was a dull fellow," Oma agreed. "I don't think he had nearly as much money as he pretended. Just wait, girl, and we'll find you a better husband than _him._"

To add to Melissa's misery, she had to help Gazenda the kitchenmaid clean up all the extra dishes. When Melissa finally escaped to her room, she sat on her bed with the scarlet hair-ribbon draped across her reddened hands and wondered what was ever going to become of her.

"Melissa is beginning to doubt that she will ever learn anything more," she said to the walls. Oma wouldn't let her study with Father Arnaldus any longer now that Arnaldus was known to be complicit in the fall of Gavarnie. So Melissa felt herself at a standstill-- never to finish her training as a holy sister, yet untutored in playing the harp or dancing or doing much else that might win her a husband. Even so, Oma had come up with the scheme to better Melissa by marrying her off to a good "prospect," and a good prospect was any man with his own source of income and a means of leaving Gavarnie.

"It's a fine thing you've never taken your final vows, my girl. Not that vows can't be broken, but sworn sisters attract the worst variety of rascal. We can do better for you."

But judging from Tarvix the arms-merchant, not many very good or interesting men would pass through Gavarnie looking for a bride.

***

Meanwhile, the mood of the people of Gavarnie was as sour as a pitcher of milk left in the sun. They cursed the Prince of Altea for robbing them of General Camus, and they cursed Camus for allowing a youth of lesser merit to kill him. They cursed the Altean again for the fine words with which he persuaded General Lorenz into surrendering Olbern Castle, and they cursed Lorenz for allowing himself to be swayed from his duty. More than any other, though, they cursed King Ludwik for setting the wheels of fate into such terrible motion. He'd brought them to the brink of disaster through pride and ambition, and hurtled them over the edge through cowardice. He had failed in the most absolute way a king could fail-- he had not seen to the welfare of his people.

When Ludwik died, the folk of Gavarnie jeered his funeral cortège.

***

Treason paid handsomely for the men who gave Grust to the rebels; General Lorenz received custody of the little prince and princess, who had been found in far-away Khadein.

"Starved nearly to death, they were," said Adomar, whose work as a courier took him often to Olbern.

"By the rebels?"

"By Dolhr."

Melissa wasn't surprised in the least. It was safe to speak ill of the Dolhr Emperor now; the Prince of Altea had finished _him_ off, as well. Grust now paid tribute to a new emperor of the world-- Hardin, the Coyote of the North; Melissa knew him as the man with the silver sword who led the terrifying Aurelian horsemen in their conquest of Grust. Still, everything seemed a little better for a while under Regent Lorenz, and in spite of Melissa's boredom and worry she was happy not to say any more funerals for poor young knights. She still wore the braided memento of her lost cavalier, and often twisted the ring around her finger when Oma discussed a new prospect for marriage, but she had mostly forgotten what the youth actually looked like, or how his voice sounded when he spoke to her that one precious time.

***

Melissa didn't remember the precise day that General Lang made his presence felt in Gavarnie. It was around the time that Father Arnaldus suffered a steep decline in his health; he suffered from palsy in half of his body, and Oma relented and allowed Melissa to sit with him and glean what wisdom she could from the old man. But then the "incidents" started. Growing numbers of soldiers-- Archanean mercenaries-- crowded the marketplace, often taking goods without paying the full price... or paying at all. Master Isarnus was taken away by Lang's troops for striking a soldier who was abusing an alewife. Old Senebrun was made to watch as one of his works, a stone arch celebrating the twin heirs of Grust, was destroyed. Gazenda went to the village of Olbern to buy salt and silver polish and never came back. She wasn't the only disappearance, either. Under Lang's occupation, Olbern Castle, once a symbol of the kingdom's strength, became known as the Nest of Vice, a place into which fair women and even young girls vanished without a trace.

After Gazenda disappeared, Oma changed all her plans to marry Melissa off to some merchant or traveling scholar.

"We'll hide you in plain sight, Liebchen," she said as she tied Melissa's hair into pigtails.

Melissa found herself stuffed into frocks two sizes too small; when the agent of the imperial census came to their door, Oma lied shamelessly and told the man that Melissa was only aged ten.

The people of Grust could only bear so much; shortly after the census, General Lorenz issued a call to arms, a call for all true citizens of Grust to defend themselves against their overlords. Gavarnie answered the call, and Melissa watched from her grandmother's walled garden as Adomar and many of her childhood friends took to the streets with axes, hatchets, antique lances and crude iron swords. The mood in Gavarnie reminded Melissa of the buoyant days before the Sable Order's destruction, and Melissa had a terrible feeling that this rebellion would not fare any better than had the brave men who died at Chiasmir Bridge.

"It is madness, my child," said Arnaldus as Melissa took the pulse in his weakened arm. "It is madness to fight, and equally mad to accept what Archanea does to us. What sort of world has this fallen to?"

"Lang's soldiers will destroy our fighters," said Melissa.

"Yes. Destroy them utterly. Every good thing gone to waste...."

As Melissa walked back to her grandmother's house, she encountered the smith Brascus; the clubfoot wore the look of a man who'd lost his shop and all his worldly goods. When Melissa asked what new ill had come upon them, the smith sighed deeply and told her the latest news from General Lang's lackeys.

"His Imperial Majesty," said Brascus, each word edged in scorn, "has dispatched his most dear friend and faithful servant, the Prince of Altea, to subdue the Grustian rebellion with the whole of his army."

Melissa had been sucking on a piece of candy; she felt it suddenly stick to the roof of her mouth. The Archanean Emperor was sending his most reliable sword-arm to vanquish Grust once and for all. Melissa went home in a daze, wondering how many more evenings she and her grandmother had to spend in one another's company. Outside their walls, Gavarnie held its breath as one being and waited for the end.

**End Chapter Three**


	4. Strangers On This Road

**Chapter Four: Strangers On This Road**

I_ do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters._

_Author's Notes: This chapter picks up with the War of Heroes (Book Two of FE3). The first three chapters have been like an extended Prologue, and the main arc of the storyline begins here. Warnings going forward: this is rated T for wartime violence, character death, and other "mature" and suggestive themes. This is not a happy story for children. Also, some of the romantic pairings may bother readers as they are not strictly game-canon. Be warned._

***

Melissa did not weep when she saw the wreck the imperial soldiers made of her garden. The new shoots, the beets and the cabbages and the spring onions, all were trampled into the hard earth. She understood on some level when the mercenaries stole their food, but this was different-- this was like smashing windows, like shooting at people's chickens and doves for amusement and leaving them to rot in the street. She was no longer surprised by any of it, and so she simply went on her knees there in the dirt to rescue what she could of their vegetables.

"I think I have enough here for a salad, Grandmother," she said of the pile of uprooted beet-shoots and crushed cabbage leaves. "That'll be dinner today... who knows what we'll eat the rest of the year."

They'd eat onions, perhaps. Most of those looked like they'd survive. Melissa wondered how long a person could survive on onions. Oma patted her on the shoulder and praised her resourcefulness in saving at least one scant meal from the ruin, but Oma straightened up at the sound of a commotion in the street that even her aging ears couldn't miss.

"Men are coming. Hide, Liebchen, quickly."

"Grandmother, there is no place to hide."

If General Lang's men wanted her, they would gladly dismantle every room of Oma's house in order to find her. The walls of their house offered no more protection than did the crumbling walls of the garden. She stayed where she was, on her knees sorting through the mustard sprouts, as the noise from the street continued. She did not bother to pray.

"Liebchen, there are men on horses... an armed man is at the gate. _Please_, girl...."

"Tell him the usual story, Grandmother."

Melissa remained crouched on the earth to conceal her height; she slumped her shoulders and hung her head low, that the man might have difficulty telling her age. She wished that she had her staff at hand, but this useful prop was left in the house. The worst men would not care, even at the sight of the staff. Clerics disappeared like everyone else if they were pretty enough.

She could hear footsteps coming down the garden path. Melissa raised her head just enough to see a pair of very fine boots approaching. The boots stopped a few paces away as Oma went into her recital.

"Sir... please spare this girl. She is but ten years old. She has not even finished her training as a sister."

"Peace, _señora_. Do not worry. We have no plans to take the child."

Melissa stiffened her shoulders; she reacted not to his words but his voice itself. She was used to the nasal speech of the Archanean mercenaries, and this stranger must hail from somewhere else entirely. Above her head, Oma made an undignified grunt of surprise.

"You are not a soldier of the Empire?"

"No. You have the wrong idea. We have not come to your land to fight against its people. My men have taken the bandits that plagued this region, and we are distributing food and other supplies at your village square."

Melissa had never heard a voice like that before, light and soft and pleasant, each word given a strangely formal emphasis. The voice also sounded young; she looked up through her eyelashes to see the stranger was indeed young, no more than twenty years of age. Tall and slender, elegantly dressed, with clear skin and delicate features. How truly odd....

The fine boots stepped away, and it seemed the stranger was going to head back down the garden path.

"If you require anything, please ask. We have much to share with you; please take what you want."

"Wait." Melissa scrambled to her feet; she felt her heart pound like the wings of a pheasant taking flight as she stepped forward, one hand outstretched in an unmistakable plea. "Please, take me with you."

The stranger looked at her, and his eyebrow arched in suspicion.

"Only ten years old?" The disbelief was plain in his voice; he almost sounded amused by the lie. His reaction was not at all what she expected, and Melissa decided at once that a well-spoken argument would give her the best chance of escaping the ruin of Gavarnie.

"Grandmother lies to protect me," she said quickly. "I am already of age, so she lies for me so that the soldiers don't take me away."

She studied the stranger as she spoke. He wore enough gold to feed their village for the rest of the year-- gold embroidery on his clothing, gold ornaments on his sword and its sheath, a gold circlet in his hair. She realized he must be at least a nobleman in his own land, and was more determined than before that he not leave without her.

"I know that if I stay here, I will eventually be discovered and captured by the imperial soldiers. Lang's men are like beasts." Melissa watched his eyes as she spoke; the idea that she was in danger of being molested affected him, and Melissa aimed her performance to hit whatever part of his heart might feel moved to protect her. She widened her own eyes and curved her lower lip, just the way Oma had taught her. "I can see in your eyes that you are different from Lang and his soldiers. Please, take me out of this country and into your own."

She really had little idea where this youth was from, but it wasn't Grust and that was all that mattered to her in that moment. Melissa waited for his response, and when it didn't immediately come, she supplied a prompt.

"Is that all right, Grandmother?"

Oma had been watching the exchange with obvious delight, not to mention a gleam of calculation in her eye.

"Ah, of course. You will be much safer compared to here." She turned back to the stranger and went into her performance again. "Young lad, I beg of you-- please protect this girl. Should you want it, it would be no problem for her to become your bride. This child is a beautiful girl, even as I was in the past. She will definitely make a fine wife. Melissa, you would surely be happy to take this youth as your husband."

The young man parted his lips, and Melissa cut in swiftly, to not give him a chance to object.

"_Honestly_, Grandmother! I couldn't possibly say."

***

Melissa once felt shame over allowing visitors to see the state into which her family's home had fallen. In her mind's eye, she saw it the way it had been before the war, before her grandfather's death, with tapestries from Khadein on the walls and silver plate gleaming on the tables. Now, much of the plate had been either stolen or bartered for food and necessities. The floor-carpets and table-carpets were worn and mended, and some were tracked with filth, and one of the tapestries had been slashed open by a soldier who thought something might be concealed beneath it. Melissa did not mind the presence of this stranger, though, as part of her wanted for him to see the degradation of such a fine house.

The young man made no comments on the state of the home; he waited patiently while Melissa packed up her things. He did have questions for Oma, mostly regarding General Lang and his occupation. Why did they have so extreme a reaction to his arrival? Were young girls abducted often? What sort of "beasts" were Lang's men? Oma was happy to air her complaints to this youth who seemed helpful and well-connected. Melissa was thankful that her grandmother's time was being spent so, as Oma was more of a hindrance than a help to her when it came to packing.

Oma finally announced that she was going to pack a few gifts of her own for her granddaughter, which left Melissa and the young man alone together. Melissa simply continued to gather her belongings, but as she wrapped her healing staff, he spoke to her directly.

"You are a sister, then, Melissa?"

"More or less. My official training ended abruptly when my teacher disappeared a few years ago."

"I am sorry to hear that. Under whom did you study?"

"Her name was Lena. She was the daughter of our bishop."

She saw a flash of recognition in his eyes-- a flash of _something_, anyway, quickly concealed with a blink. He said nothing, though.

"Lena taught me a few good things." She might as well advertise that she had some useful skills. If he had any thoughts of abandoning her out on the road, he might reconsider.

"I am sure of it. Perhaps we can see to it that your training is completed."

He said everything-- almost everything-- in such a cautious, neutral way. Melissa never had heard anything quite like it before, and she had a sudden burst of suspicion. What was this polite young stranger concealing from them? She realized, then, that he had not so much as offered his name to her.

"We must leave soon, Melissa," he said, before she could ask anything more. She heard a definite edge of authority in his voice-- still polite, but firm. Melissa looked down at her idle hands. The ring of braided hair on her finger was dull now, with dust caught in every strand of the braid.

"I need to take a few things from the kitchen," she said.

She almost ran toward the kitchen. Melissa tugged the braided ring off her finger and threw it into the fire, then turned away before she could see it vanish into flame and acrid smoke. She retrieved a few pieces of tableware so as to not make herself a liar and returned to her legitimate packing. When Melissa's earthly goods were ready to transport, the youth turned to Oma with a final offer of help.

"Is there anything you need of us? If it would be a hardship to you to travel to the village square, I can have one my men bring you whatever it is you want."

"I need you to give my granddaughter a good life." Oma said, and for once it seemed unvarnished honesty, but then her face crinkled up as she took on another role and began to haggle with the youth. "Oh, just a few things... a tablet of salt, a cup of honey and perhaps a sliver of beeswax, a few almonds, and a little gold. Seven pieces should do."

"Grandmother!"

"Salt, honey, wax, and almonds. All good things, perhaps not easy to find in these times." The young man tilted his head as he considered Oma and her odd desires. "Done. I will have someone bring your request."

And so Oma saw them off with joyful tears and kisses, as though Melissa were truly embarking upon a new life with a husband, not creeping out of town with some young foreigner who hadn't provided his name. She had even dared to pull Melissa aside for a few words of private advice. Melissa was glad they'd had _that _conversation in Grustian instead of the Common Tongue; she didn't think the elegant stranger would have enjoyed hearing it. Still, Melissa in spite of herself felt a little caught up in the romance of the moment-- slipping down the path of her grandmother's ruined garden with this shining young man with the gold circlet and silk-lined mantle. The beautiful white gelding awaiting them in the street completed the picture.

"Tirante is swift but very easy to handle," he assured her as he lifted her into the saddle. "I will make sure he is gentle for you."

The horse, too, wore enough gold on his trappings that Melissa wondered how much wealth this young man might have. She hoped he hadn't wasted it all on display, given that he was going to need to take care of _her_ now. Also, there was the matter of the ride itself; Melissa was used to riding side-saddle and was uncomfortable and a little embarrassed as her new companion led Tirante through the street. The walls of Oma's garden were well behind them when Melissa asked the most urgent of her many questions.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, sir."

"Marth of Altea."

He said it lightly, speaking over his shoulder, as though it were a detail of no great consequence. Melissa blinked, hoping that she'd misheard. But all the strange details came together-- the gold circlet, the odd way of speaking, the references to "my men"-- and Melissa shrank back in the saddle, feeling more than a little afraid of this seemingly perfect youth who had just bartered her safety. Adomar's words from two years before came back to her: _he's nothing, he's my age...._

Melissa stared down at the slim hand guiding the reins of Tirante and realized it was that very hand which held the rapier that sealed the doom of her motherland. _Camus has fallen_. The hand that killed Camus, killed the kings of Gra and Pyrathi, and then brought down the Dragon Emperor. The very commander whose forces had slaughtered the flower of the Grustian cavalry and left the land near to defenseless. The scourge sent by the gods to punish all Grust for the sin of allying with the Dragonlord of Dolhr. Everything she had ever heard about the Prince of Altea, nine-tenths of it terrifying, rattled through Melissa's head as Tirante ambled along with a gentle clip-clop sound.

"Your name is a curse here," she said to him, in the sweetest voice she could manage.

"I know it," he replied, again lightly. "All the more reason to be sparing with it."

Melissa thought her grandmother, had she only known, would likely have thrashed the prince with the nearest available piece of kitchenware. Her heart again fluttered like the frantic wings of a bird flushed out of hiding, and she very nearly asked the next question: What do you want with me? For what could the Altean prince possibly want with the half-trained novice of a country he hated so? She did not have the chance to ask, for just then the prince halted Tirante; it seemed an old man in violet-hued armor wished to speak to him.

"Your Highness?" The old knight arched a heavy eyebrow at the sight of Melissa.

"I'll explain later, Jagen."

Melissa found herself taken on a farewell tour of Gavarnie; most of the townspeople stayed indoors, despite the promises of food and assistance. Whenever Melissa was seen, she heard a trail of whispers: "They are taking our Sister Melissa." She wondered if she ought to wave to them all, but instead kept her pose on Tirante like a proper lady, and she did not speak to anyone save Prince Marth. After a time, she began to enjoy herself a little more; it was a fine spring day, after all, and she was going through town on a white horse shining with gilded trappings even if her skirts were all bunched up.

It was late afternoon when they reached the camp set up outside the village walls. If she had doubted Marth's claims to be a prince, this sight would have resolved them, for the blue banner of Altea fluttered above the highest pavilion in the camp. The sentries bowed in the way that one bowed to royalty-- even a general would not be treated so, and Melissa's heart quickened now to think that a prince was walking at her side while she rode on his gelding. Once in camp, Melissa found herself surrounded by curious faces, most of them belonging to boys and girls close to her own age. _These_ were the Temple Knights of Altea, who left rivers of blood in their wake?

Prince Marth assisted her down from Tirante and had her stand at his side while he addressed his knights.

"Friends, a brave sister of Grust has agreed to join us and lend us her support. Please make the sister welcome."

The prince then switched into a different language for a few more sentences; Melissa assumed he was repeating the greeting in the Alteans' own tongue. Either that, or he was saying something that she wasn't supposed to hear. Whatever he said, it produced a round of applause from the soldiers.

Melissa was the sensation of the evening. One of the archers spread a cloth on the ground and gestured for her to sit on it. A handsome young knight offered the "honored sister" a plate heaped with ham and rice and vegetables. Another handed her a cup of water-- silver, not the tin the soldiers drank from. Melissa accepted it all with delight-- was this the new life that awaited her? Silver dishes and servants to attend to her every desire? Choice bits of meat and white polished rice? The smoky, salty taste of the meat almost made her dizzy with pleasure. She could remember the last time she'd had any meat at all; a few months back, she managed to cajole some scraps of chicken from a dim-witted young soldier, and the memory of that chicken had sustained her through many weeks of black bread and turnips.

A foot-soldier interrupted her dinner to let her know that he'd delivered the promised gifts to her grandmother-- "And a small ham, and two sacks of chickpeas, and a round of cheese. Your grandmother should lack for nothing."

"How very generous of you," Melissa said, and she did wonder how Oma would truly get by in her absence. She might be able to browbeat one of the village children into doing menial work... Melissa never had been very good at keeping house, anyway. Melissa tried not to think of her grandmother as she looked around the camp, at these happy young people in their bright armor. One of them, a very young boy in the garb of an archer, was staring at her with round green eyes. Melissa beckoned him over.

"Is there any more wine?"

"_Si_-- yes! If the sister desires the wine, I will fetch her some."

He came scampering back with a silver goblet of delicious red wine.

By the time Melissa was sated, her belly felt twice its normal size. She sat on her brocaded cloth, eyes half-closed in sleep, while the prince addressed his people a final time for the night. Melissa did not truly pay attention; afterward, emboldened by the wine, she spoke to him without waiting for him to address her.

"Where will I sleep for the night?"

"Cecilia will share her tent with you and see to your safety."

Melissa looked sharply at the slim figure in rose-colored armor standing behind the prince.

"Don't you worry, sister! I will protect you," the girl knight proclaimed with a smile.

"How very kind of you," Melissa responded, wondering what sort of trouble she was in for. She never had liked spending time with girls her own age.

Cecilia turned out to be another willing servant who rearranged the tent just the way Melissa wanted it. When everything was to Melissa's liking, Cecilia left her alone, claiming she had duties elsewhere.

"Wait! Aren't you supposed to protect me?"

But the tent-flap closed behind the female knight, and Melissa wondered if she hadn't been deliberately left alone. After several minutes, Melissa opened one of the bundles that Oma packed for her. She put on the cut-stone earrings and pendant, then tied a new scarlet ribbon into her hair. She touched up her lips and cheeks with the rouge from the little pot tucked in the bottom of the bundle. Oma, in her enthusiasm, had even given up her prized bottle of perfume, a treasure imported from Holy Archanea many years before. Just opening the bottle sent a flood of rose and orange-blossom fragrance through the tent, and Melissa placed one drop of scent behind each ear. Then she waited, on the assumption the prince was more likely than not to want to see his new "bride."

He did not come, nor did he send for her. Melissa was not sure whether to be glad or sorry.

**End Chapter Four**

_Trying to make sense of nonsensical gameplay tropes is so much fun...._


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